


i broke all our belongings

by crownsandbirds



Series: so, darling, play your violin (it's what you live for) [2]
Category: Given (Manga)
Genre: Character Analysis, Character Study, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, these two are...complicated, very much so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 16:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: "In a different dimension where Akihiko is less a fucking coward and has more of a spine about him, he would probably step over the shards and ignore the prickling of pain on the bottom of his feet and take Ugetsu, the breathtaking chaos that he is, in his arms, kiss his head, his scornful lips.In this dimension, Akihiko keeps his distance, Ugetsu on the other side of the room, shards and spilled coffee between them."Three mugs are broken. Three movements of their concerto.





	i broke all our belongings

**Author's Note:**

> "all the eggshells are on the ground  
> and I try, I'm trying to pick them up  
> but they crack and crumble, it's all too much  
> too frail for me to touch.
> 
> i broke what you gave me  
> but you kept giving more  
> and I'm sorry for taking  
> but I keep wanting  
> more, more, more."
> 
> (humpty - mitski)

Three mugs were broken in this house. 

iii.

One because Ugetsu's rage is explosive and destructive, a string being snapped by forceful fingers, a metaphorical backhand slap, a mug filled with coffee - two spoons of sugar, and nothing else, Akihiko knows - thrown to the ground, shards everywhere, sharp and white and cutting, hot liquid spilling over the perfectly polished floor. One because Ugetsu doesn't know how to be angry without lashing out, because his rage is as dramatic as it is, well, beautiful, in a way, almost, or maybe Akihiko just finds everything he does pretty, because everything done by a gorgeous man is beautiful. 

In a different dimension where Akihiko is less a _fucking coward_ and has more of a spine about him, he would probably step over the shards and ignore the prickling of pain on the bottom of his feet and take Ugetsu, the breathtaking chaos that he is, in his arms, kiss his head, his scornful lips. 

In this dimension, Akihiko keeps his distance, Ugetsu on the other side of the room, shards and spilled coffee between them. 

"I'm sorry," Akihiko mumbles after a while. His heart is still pounding, blood flowing on his ears - there's something so unsettling about watching the violence of something being thrown to the floor, the collection of movements done with the single goal of breaking. 

He's not really sure what he's apologizing for. For being a jagged-edge mess pressing against Ugetsu's flawless, smooth-gliding existence in all the wrong, uncomfortable places. For falling in love when he shouldn't have. For staying in love when he should've fallen out of it as easily as Ugetsu did. 

"Tch," his beautiful, lonely prodigy scoffs, smooths down his hair. "Whatever."

His eyes are wonderful in the late evening like this, cold and irresistible. Akihiko wants to touch the delicate skin under them, wants to fit his hand on the soft place at the back of his skull. 

And then Ugetsu kneels down on the floor and starts picking up the cracks, careful so he won't cut himself. The light from the small chandelier plastered on the tall ceiling touches his nape and bounces off his messy curls. 

Akihiko falls in love again. 

  


ii.

The second mug is broken by accident. 

Ugetsu really likes to read, Akihiko knows; he particularly likes to read in his favorite chair, the one carefully placed beside the large window that allows the sunlight to stream inside just so. He reads with his legs crossed like a child's, one of his hands wrapped around his delicate ankles and the other holding the chosen book on his lap. Usually, he keeps a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, seeing as he's fond of walking around the house shirtless, and a coffee mug precariously balanced on the arm of the chair. 

He almost looks human, like this, reading with the afternoon light framing the curve of his spine. 

Akihiko gets home, and locks the door behind himself, and raises his hand. "I'm home," he calls out. 

Ugetsu turns to greet him, a gorgeous smile on his lips, "Akihiko!", he exclaims, as if he loves him, as if he misses him when he's not around, and his elbow hits the mug, and the mug crashes on the floor. 

There's silence between them, and they stare at each other, and the smell of the coffee trails up the air, and Ugetsu's hands shake where they hold his forgotten book. 

"I -" he starts, and stops, and bites his lower lip in that devastatingly charming way he does when he's _distressed_ and that makes Akihiko want to rush to him, hold him and kiss him and promise everything's okay, nothing's wrong, it's just a mug, not the bones in a hand, not a heart, please don't cry. 

Akihiko tells him, "Stay there, or you'll hurt yourself. I'll pick these up."

Ugetsu nods, his lip still snagged between his teeth. Akihiko wonders if he's going to cry. Ugetsu looks gorgeous when he cries. 

  
i.   


The third one is the first one and the one Akihiko keeps coming back to. 

Ugetsu prefers his mugs simple, he learned. Simple and white, with regular shapes. Much the same as he prefers his decorations, his apartment, his car and his sheets and his bed and his clothes. Tasteful in their minimalism, discreet and soothing - the sharp whiplash-opposite to their owner and his absurdly complex feelings and labyrinthine trails of thought. 

Akihiko gets him a white mug as a gift. Almost as an afterthought, he'd say, as if anything about Ugetsu could ever be an afterthought, as if the prodigy boy and his violin haven't ruled over every single one of his heartbeats and over his breathing and the patterns of his existence since the first time he saw him. 

Ugetsu throws the mug on the floor. Doesn't _throw_ , per se, but he reaches forward in the intensely dramatic movements he performs sometimes, an actor without an audience, a violinist without his violin, like he doesn't know what to do with his arms, like his body doesn't function when it's not making music. 

_Touch me,_ Akihiko wants to say. _Stop breaking things. Touch me and hold me and I'll show you how beautiful your body is, I'll play an entire concerto with the shape of your breathing and the fluttering of your eyelids, I'll do anything for you, anything -_

The mug is still broken on the floor. Shards almost the same color as the tiles. Tasteful white. 

Ugetsu starts shaking. Akihiko doesn't know if he's angry or simply upset, but at least he's not yelling anymore. 

He kneels down and starts picking up what's left, graceful fingers bringing the destruction closer to himself. 

When Akihiko kneels down in front of him, he notices Ugetsu's gorgeously sharp eyes are overflowing with tears, tears running down his cheeks and trailing the curve of his jaw. Akihiko has no idea why he's crying. He realizes, then, how little he understands Ugetsu. How incomprehensible he is. How insanely in love with him Akihiko is. 

_I love you to death,_ he wants to say. _I love you between the notes and the chords, in the silence between songs, in the moment the singer stops to breathe. I love you. Throw my porcelain heart on the floor. I'll break, and I'll love you, and maybe I'll break you in turn, and you'll look as pretty as you do now. Just as perfect._

Ugetsu's sobs are pretty, staccato-like, and they sound like music. Akihiko lifts his hand carefully, touches the tip of his nose, the ends of his hair, the space between his eyebrows, traces his hairline. 

He's beautiful when he cries. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> these two are really something else.


End file.
